The Postal Service — Give Up

Sub Pop | discogs.com

Skittish, anxious dance music for skittish, anxious people.

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With twitching hair-trigger synth syncopations and propulsive multi-layered drum machine loops, The Postal Service write skittish, anxious dance music for skittish, anxious people.

Give Up is strung between latter-day Radiohead and vintage Owl City, melding together the rich, heady imagery of the former and the featherweight charm of the latter. Divested of the ponderous, portentous weight of the likes of Kid A and sieved of Ocean Eyes' syrupy sweetness, the product is dry and tart, and entirely novel.

There is something arrestingly off-centre about this album; a disturbance in the orbit, a ripple in the pattern. Buoyant thought it may be, Give Up feels as though it is seconds away from tripping over its own feet, suspended in a moment of tension. It is a delicately balanced post-modernist sculpture, or better still a school of tiny fish: a single tap on the glass will send little silver knives scattering.

The Postal Service have a way of writing unexpected gear shifts into their songs which, far from interrupting, invite and intrigue, provided the listener is in a receptive mindframe. Case in point: the occasional incongruous orchestral interjections. Someone may as well have staged an incursion into the studio with a record player trumpeting a Beethoven symphony in reverse.

Give Up does not demand your attention. It will not wave at you, crook a finger, or even so much as waggle an eyebrow. Calling or beckoning will do you no good. It outright refuses to meet you half-way. But if you are willing to expend the effort, The Postal Service is willing to deliver.